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 And as he made the announcement, Durbeyfield, declining from his sitting position, luxuriously stretched himself out upon the bank among the daisies.

The lad stood before Durbeyfield, and contemplated his length from crown to toe.

‘Sir John D’Urberville—that’s who I am,’ continued the prostrate man. ‘That is if knights were baronets—which they be. ’Tis recorded in history all about me. Dost know of such a place, lad, as Kingsbere-sub-Greenhill?’

‘Yes. I’ve been there to Greenhill Fair’

‘Well, under the church of that city there lie’

‘Tisn’t a city, the place I mean; leastwise ’twasn’t when I was there—’twas a little one-eyed, blinking sort o’ place.’

‘Never you mind the place, boy, that’s not the question before us. Under the church of that parish lie my ancestors—hundreds of ’em—in coats of mail and jewels, in great lead coffins weighing tons and tons. There’s not a man in the county o’ South-Wessex that’s got grander and nobler skellingtons in his family than I.’

‘Oh?’